I read Samantha Hunt’s Mr. Splitfoot last night. It was pretty amazing. I finished it and I was just like “wow.”
But man, did I really feel like every review or promotional material I read about the book beforehand really kind of missed the mark. I mean, I picked up the book because so many people had said it was great.
But it’s not a story about a woman who talks to the dead. Or at least, not how it was presented in the promotional material. It’s a book about mothers and sisters and aunts. It’s about losing things and trying to find them again. It’s about the kinds of love that aren’t romantic.
It’s really lovely. It’s just not really what I thought I’d been told it was going to be.